


I Am Good

by shadesfalcon



Series: Becoming [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, BAMF Laura, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Discussion of Abortion, Female Friendship, Natasha Needs a Hug, POV Female Character, Past Non-Consensual Pregnancy Termination, Pre-Series, Pregnancy, Threats of Violence, even when she's in the middle of an existential crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:46:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesfalcon/pseuds/shadesfalcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura Barton is startled when Clint shows up at the farm with a barely-willing Natasha in tow. He says he's afraid that his employers will kill the girl, if he brings her back, and he didn't know what else to do. Laura finds herself drawn to Natasha, even more so as she begins to learn about her past. To Natasha, the growing friendship between the two women seems impossible. To Laura, it seems inevitable.</p><p>Inspired by <a href="http://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/post/126271583257">this meta-y text post</a> by <a href="http://spectralarchers.tumblr.com">spectralarchers</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am Good

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [nathanielbarton](http://nathanielbarton.tumblr.com/) for beta and really good advice, and thank you to [simply-marvellous-1](http://simply-marvellous-1.tumblr.com/) for meticulous editing for incorrigible typos.

 

 

 

Laura readjusted her hands on the cold ceramic coffee mug. It was five thirty in the morning and the world was a muted cacophony outside the open kitchen window. The coffeemaker had been left alone so long that it had turned itself off, the last inch of liquid slowly cooling into unpalatable sludge.

She had things to do. There were fields outside, and a garden in the back, and horses in the barn. She did not have the time to continue to sit and watch a lone ant make its way across the wooden table.

It was the sound of tires along the gravel driveway that finally propelled her into action. The sound had brought a quickness to her heartbeat, because it was too early. Clint wasn’t due back for another two days, and even though he still hadn’t told her what, exactly, he did for a living, she knew enough to worry. She knew enough to hold timetables sacred. She knew enough that “early” and “late” both brought her heart to her mouth.

She felt like she was going to throw up.

But that wasn’t new. Not for the last three days, at least.

She walked to the door, quickly enough that she actually got there and slowly enough that whoever was outside had plenty of time to climb out of their vehicle and onto the gravel. She could hear the footsteps as she turned the door handle.

Relief, then, at her Clint standing next to the passenger side. He was helping a young woman with red hair to climb out of the car. They were struggling a bit, and Laura weighed the pros and cons of stepping out barefoot in pajama shorts and a t-shirt. Cons – the morning was chilly and the grass was wet with dew. Not to mention the sharp rocks of the driveway.

Pros – it cut away the last seconds standing between her and Clint.

She walked out into the yard, picking her way carefully so as to watch where she stepped. He’d carry her back into the house anyway, if she asked, and she had every intention of asking.

That intention dropped away when she glanced back up to see how much further she had to go, wondering why he hadn’t run to her already. The girl he was bringing out of the car didn’t appear to be coming willingly. She wasn’t _fighting_ , per se, but she had a long-suffering look on her face and she was pushing when he pulled and pulling when he pushed. More importantly, her hands were tied together. Not just as the wrists, either. Duct tape ran around her forearms several times, wrapping from the wrists all the way up to her elbows. It couldn’t be comfortable. Even her fingers were trapped in the sticky plastic.

“Clint?” Laura asked tentatively, bringing both pairs of eyes to her. “What’s going on?”

 _Secrecy_. It was why Laura knew there was more to Clint’s life than was first apparent. Why their marriage ceremony had been alone under the sky. There could never be a marriage certificate or a picture from a court security camera. And yet, here was this girl, whom Laura had never met and who did not appear to be highly cooperative.

“House,” Clint panted. The girl was finally out of the car, leaning back against Clint’s prompting like a dog that hadn’t taken to a leash yet.

“Clint,” Laura began again, eyeing the girl.

“House,” he repeated, and she heard the strain in his voice that meant “house” was the only thing he’d been thinking for a very long time. This had been his one motivating goal for hours, and he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else until he made it the last couple steps.

“Ok,” she said, turning to run back to the door. She didn’t feel the stones anymore. Didn’t feel the wet grass. She just felt the cold edge of the screen door as she held it open and the rolling nausea that was already getting worse every day.

She watched the two make their trek to the steps, up the steps, and into the house. She followed after, pulling the screen door firmly shut behind her, to find Clint standing aimlessly in the living room.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Laura asked. “Or…”

_Or is this it? Is this the coming of the things that keep you up at night? Is this the end I know you have nightmares about?_

Because something had happened. She could tell by the way her husband stood in his own home. She could tell by the way his eyes keep drifting toward the girl.

The girl in question looked to be in her mid-teens. Seventeen at the oldest. Not that that meant anything specific to Laura. Clint had been young when they'd met, but he'd known more than most of the world would ever figure out. The girl was probably the same.

“Natasha,” Clint introduced, swinging his right arm toward her generically. He turned and finally met Laura’s eyes, adding, “Sorry. I couldn’t think of anywhere else. Can’t take her to SHIELD. Can’t do it.”

She was right. If Clint was naming his employers – possibly even defying them – everything was changing.

“He’s going to pass out,” Natasha said. Her voice had a slight Eastern European accent, and Laura half-turned to look at her. Except, the prediction had been true and Clint’s knees buckled on cue. He hit the floor, tumbling over and barely missing cracking his head on the end table. Laura had always hated that end table anyway.

Laura rushed to Clint, just as Natasha said, “He’s shit at sewing with his right hand.”

It took her a moment to process what this meant, but then she figured it out. She rushed to gently turn Clint’s body and to pull away his shirt. It didn’t want to come so she got up and ran to the kitchen, grabbing a knife and running back. She slashed open the expensive fabric and found packed gauze taped against the left side of his chest. Blood was leaking through the white cotton, and Laura peeled the tape back slowly, gritting her teeth at the jagged knife wound and haphazard sutures underneath.

“He’s left-handed,” she said out loud. Half to Natasha and half to no one at all.

Natasha snorted. “I noticed.”

“And you didn’t help him?” Laura was still on her knees, but she twisted her body around to glare at the girl. Who calmly lifted her bound arms and raised an eyebrow.

That got Laura to her feet. She was still holding the knife in one hand and she stepped forward with sudden speed, grabbing the tangle of duct tape by digging her fingers in to loop under the edges. Natasha shied away on a reflex that was a little too slow and almost tripped backwards over an armchair.

“Help _me_ ,” Laura ordered, and sliced through the duct tape, all the way from elbow to wrist. “We’re going to get him into the kitchen. On the table.”

Natasha hesitated again. Not an “I don’t want to” hesitation, but something slower. And her eyes were a little too dilated.

“Are you drugged?” Laura asked, with sudden incredulity.

“I wasn’t being _good_ ,” Natasha spat.

Laura pushed her prejudices about forced medication aside and again said, “Help me lift him.”

This time Natasha moved to help. Laura shuffled around to hook her hands underneath Clint’s arms, while Natasha hooked her hands under Clint’s knees, leaving the duct tape sticking to her sleeves and sticking her fingers together. They lifted in perfect coordination, and moved into the kitchen.

Laura was strong, she’d moved too many hay bales and argued with too many horses to be anything else. She wasn’t really surprised that the girl seemed just as strong, even in her drugged state. Clint was on the table in no time. They slid him across it into better position, and his feet swept the coffee mug off the table. It hit the floor and shattered with a dull finality.

“I’m sorry!” Natasha gaped. She still had her hands under Clint’s legs, but she was staring down at the shattered mug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see it. I didn’t catch it – I – I’m sorry!”

“It’s just a mug,” Laura said calmly, as she dug the med kit out from under the sink. And to think she’d hoped it would never be necessary beyond scrapes and bites. “I don’t care about the mug.”

She was all the way back around to Clint’s side – _my god he was pale, did he need blood?_ – and picking apart the horridly applied suturing with the tiny scissors. Suddenly, she felt soft hands over hers and looked up into Natasha’s eyes.

“Let me.”

“You’re drugged.”

“Are you a surgeon?” Natasha smiled.

“No.”

“Then I’m better than you, even drugged. I’m probably better than some surgeons while drugged.” She giggled, paused, and then swore at herself in anger.

Laura gave way, backing up a few steps and watching the girl take over. She was right. Laura had done a total of one stitch in her lifetime. Natasha had clearly done hundreds. Her hands were steady and efficient, and even with the new blood welling up from the needle’s entry points, the whole mess looked better in minutes. Laura taped another square of gauze on, and bent over her husband.

“Do you think he needs professional help?” she asked Natasha. “I don’t know how deep those went. What if his lung is about to collapse?”

“The cuts aren’t that deep,” Natasha said, and Laura turned to look at her.

“How do you know?”

They stared at each other in silence, each stubbornly refusing to concede the non-point, until Laura got it – heard what Natasha wasn’t saying.

_I know because I made them._

Laura looked down at the shreds of duct tape that littered her kitchen floor. She wasn’t even sure she knew where more duct tape was in the house, and even less sure she could win that fight. Drugged or not drugged, there was something behind those eyes that gave Laura chills.

But Clint had brought her here. She would have to hold onto that.

A tiny part of her mind reminded her that Clint had also tied the girl’s arms together, but she pushed it down because it was already too late.

As though sensing Laura thinking of him, Clint shifted suddenly, letting out a mostly-silent huff of air, and Laura stepped back to his head.

“Hey baby,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair and brushing them along his face. “Are you with me?”

“Well, yeah,” Clint grinned. “Where else would I be?”

“Passed out on my living room floor, that’s where. What the hell?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I had a bad day. Feel better now though. Lots better.”

He struggled into sitting position, and she helped him only because she knew he’d do more damage fighting her than if she helped him. When he was sitting on the edge of the table, letting his legs swing free in the air, he saw Natasha and finally seemed to remember she was there.

“Oh. Right.”

He eyed her freed arms, and she tucked them behind her back, taking a step away. Like a toddler who didn’t want you to see she’d taken something from the cookie jar.

“It’s ok,” Clint told her. “We don’t have to tie you back up. It’s…are the drugs wearing off?”

“Yes,” was Natasha curt reply, and Laura rounded on Clint.

“You did drug her? Clint, why?”

“What? No, I didn’t drug her, she was drugged when I got her. They’d given her something to make her more compliant or whatever. I don’t know.”

Laura looked up at Natasha again, and that bitter twisted smile had returned to the girl’s lips.

“I wasn’t being _good_ ,” she sneered, and everything made a little more sense.

“Clint,” Laura sighed, a tranquil resignation washing over her. She knew this song. She’d watched Clint bring home injured animals. She’d seen his bleeding heart when it came to donations and humanitarian efforts. Laura knew this song, and this was just a different verse.

“Natasha,” Laura said, holding the name reverently on her lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

***

They spent the next day or so discussing the options. Or, Laura and Clint spent the next day discussing their options. Natasha spent the day sitting on the window seats and staring out at the landscape. Every couple of minutes she moved to another window. Clint said she was keeping watch. He didn’t say what for.

Their options, it turns out, were very limited. SHIELD wanted Natasha dead, and Clint didn’t trust them not to finish the mission themselves. The problem was, he had to go back. He didn’t trust everyone at SHIELD, but he was still loyal to them. He had to report the next morning.

“So leave her here,” Laura said, because the solution was obvious.

“She’s dangerous.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“Laura. I love you. I love you for this, but you don’t understand. She’s not dangerous like me. She’s dangerous like I _was_. Before you. Before SHIELD.”

“You said they’ve been drugging her. Because they thought she would run?”

“Something like that. They were worried she wouldn’t do as she was told.”

“Wouldn’t be good,” Laura echoed. “To me, that sounds like here is exactly where she needs to be. She needs time away from everything. Time away from her abusers. Time away from SHIELD and spies, or whatever it is that you are.”

“Assassin,” Clint said, and then seemed to wince at the word he’d never spoken, sliding his eyes away from Laura.

“Time away from assassins,” Laura continued, without hesitation. “That’s what this place is for you, right? Let her be still.”

“And risk everything? Risk you?”

“You already brought her here to the farm,” Laura pointed out. “This place is already compromised.”

“You think this is about the farm? The farm is just a place to me. _You_ are my home. _You_ are what I need to be able to come back to.”

“She didn’t attack me,” Laura pointed out, trying a different track. “I unbound her, and you were unconscious, and she knew I wouldn’t have chased her if she’d run. But she helped me and you. And actually there was this weird moment with a coffee mug.” Laura glanced around the kitchen, suddenly remembering the broken mug.

“That doesn’t mean she won’t attack you later,” Clint sighed.

Laura got down on her hands and knees to look under the table, trying to find the mug. There was nothing. Not even a single chip.

“What are you doing?” Clint asked wearily.

Laura didn’t answer at first, walking over to the trash can and peering in. The shards of the mug sat up top of the pile, along with a few coffee-soaked paper towels.

“She cleaned it up,” Laura said, and Clint came over to join her.

“So she cleaned up her mess,” Clint said. “That doesn’t mean anything. Laura you have to understand.” He took Laura by the arm and pulled her around to look at him face to face. “She is the most lethal person I’ve ever encountered.”

“She wanted to leave. You said that she wanted to leave, and you didn’t seem to have a lot of trouble getting her to come here with you.”

“Again, doesn’t mean anything. Wanting to leave - hell, even wanting to be a good person - doesn’t means she’s not dangerous. She was raised, from birth, to kill everything that tries to get its hands on her. She’s not used to being touched in a way that isn’t painful, and she’s likely to break your arm, or worse, just for brushing up against her at the wrong moment.”

“Then I won’t brush up against her.”

“You can’t just..it’s...ack!” Clint threw his hands in the air in frustration.

“You have to go back,” Laura said, calmly. “To SHIELD.”

“Yes.”

“And if you take her back with you, they’ll kill her.”

“Yes.”

“And if you let her go?”

“I can’t just let her go. I was given a mission. I know I didn’t complete it, but if she gets picked up by her handlers again...if she kills more people, that’s red in _my_ ledger.”

“Then it sounds like you don’t have a choice. I promise I’ll be careful, but I’m not letting you take her back to be killed.”

“Fine,” Clint gave in. “Just...fine.” He was staring across the house and into the living room, where Natasha was currently curled, head pressed against the windowpane. “But you call me the moment you change your mind. If anything makes you uncomfortable, you let me know. Trust your instincts. We can call an audible the _moment_ you change your mind. And she’s smart, too, ok. Don’t let her…guilt you into anything.”

“Guilt me into anything?” Laura laughed. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Right,” Clint grinned, ducking his head. “You just do you, then.”

***

The moment Clint drove away was awkward. Laura went out to say goodbye, but Natasha stayed inside and watched through the window. Laura wasn’t sure why she’d thought the girl would come out for the farewell. She hadn’t spoken since the drugs had worn off. Hadn’t really slept, either, not that Laura had seen, though she suspected catnaps in the window seats.

And then the car disappeared down the road, and she was standing there in her robe and flip flops. She’d been used to the semi-isolation of the farm. She wondered what it would be like to have someone there who wasn’t Clint.

She placed one hand on her stomach, impulse rather than intent. Well, she’d probably better get used to it.

***

It was like having a new cat. Laura walked around her house slowly, going out of her way to keep from changing rooms too often. She left food out on the table – sometimes it got eaten and sometimes it didn’t– and tried not to make a lot of noise. Or sudden movements.

At one point, Laura was reading in the study when Natasha wandered in. She saw Laura, and froze for a moment in the doorway. Laura kept her eyes focused on her book, pretending she didn’t notice. Turned a page, even though she wasn’t looking at the words.

Eventually Natasha continued, one careful step at a time, until she was curled up in the window again. Laura stayed there without moving until her leg fell asleep and she was shivering from the cold, but she refused to move. She didn’t want to startle Natasha.

***

It couldn’t hold, of course. Laura spoke first. It was sunrise, and Laura was heading in from feeding the horses, when Natasha happened to cross through the kitchen.

“Do you want breakfast?”

Natasha tensed visibly, and shook her head.

“You sure? I can make pancakes, if you like.” She thought through the brief history Clint had given her of the girl’s life and added, “You know pancakes, right?”

“Yes I fucking know pancakes!” Natasha snapped. “I know what pancakes are. I know how to make them! I know lots of things, and most of them are dangerous as fuck!”

“Dangerous as fuck, huh? I’ve always been confused by that phrase. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“I could kill you with anything in here!” Natasha screamed. “You didn’t even put away the knives, though I don’t need them. I could brain you with the coffee maker!”

“Dangerous. As. Fuck,” Laura repeated again, turning back to the fridge. “Yeah, I just don’t get it.”

“I could splinter this chair into tiny little pieces in a split second. Run you through. I could smash your head on the counter or break the window and use the glass!”

“Sorry, what was your decision on the pancakes? I zoned out there.”

Natasha hissed through her teeth, fingers tensed against her sides.

“I have fresh blueberries, if you like?” Laura continued.

“I do not want fucking blueberries you worthless shit of a woman,” Natasha was calming down, speaking through her teeth now.

“How about strawberries, then? They’re frozen, but it’s hard to tell the difference in pancakes.”

“How about I pin you to the wall?” The non-control was completely gone from her voice. That was low and menacing. Unlike the yelling earlier, this sent a chill through Laura and she was glad she was hiding her face in the fridge.

“I could skin you,” Natasha continued from behind. “Use your flayed flesh to stick you to the wall. You wouldn’t die right off. I’d leave your organs alone. Just you and your blood, drip drip drip. It stings like a motherfucker. Stings so hard it burns. Burns so deep you scream. Every air current against your body feels like knives all over again. Nerves aren’t meant to be exposed like that. And your strawberries? Frozen is good for pushing through eyes. Seems like a nice tableau to me. What would Clint do if he came back and found you bled dry against the wall, with molding strawberries instead of eyes?”

Laura took a deep breath and turned around. She looked straight at Natasha and said, “Did someone skin you, Natasha? Is that how you know the words to describe it?”

Natasha’s mouth worked for moment, a disconnect between words and thought.

“Just plain pancakes it is then?” Laura continued, before the girl could find her voice again. “I understand completely. Sometimes the classic way is the best way.”

Natasha turned on her heel and ran up the stairs. As soon as she was out of sight, Laura leaned against the counter, trying to talk herself out of retching into the sink. Her hands were shaking and her heartrate was way too high.

 _Temper tantrum_ , she repeated to herself. _It’s just a temper tantrum. Give in to the first one and you’ll have to deal with a thousand more._

She didn’t think she had it in her to deal with a thousand more of those.

***

She ended up in the bathroom the next morning, vomiting her guts up. Not that that was new or uncommon, but this morning was different because it was the day Natasha showed up in the tiled room and said, “Are you sick?”

Laura, who hadn’t realized Natasha had opened the door, jumped a little from where she was hunched over the toilet. She waved her arm behind her, shooing at Natasha who, _of course_ , didn’t move.

“You throw up a lot,” she said solemnly. “So are you sick?”

“Um, not sick,” Laura said, spitting multiple times before wiping her mouth and then the toilet edge with toilet paper. She stood to go to the sink and was startled to find Natasha was holding a glass of water in one hand. She wasn’t _offering_ it per se, but she wasn’t drinking it.

“Is that for me?” Laura asked, and Natasha’s arm jerked, froze, and finally made it all the way up to hand it to Laura.

“Thank you,” she said, then rinsed her mouth. When she looked up from spitting into the sink, she expected Natasha to be gone, but those eyes were staring at her reflection in the mirror.

“You’re not sick?” she asked again, and Laura huffed through her nose.

“I don’t think ‘sick’ is the word for it. I’m pregnant.”

She hadn’t had any concrete expectation for Natasha’s reaction to that statement, so the wide-eyed horror was a surprise.

“Oh god,” Natasha whispered, hands reaching out to flutter – without quite touching – all around Laura’s abdomen. “Oh god,” she continued to whisper under her breath. “Oh god, oh god.” Laura just watched, trying to understand. Trying to guess.

“Does he know?” Natasha finally asked. “Does he know yet?”

“Clint? No, I haven’t told him yet.”

“Ok,” Natasha responded, taking a slow deep breath and finally allowing her hands to come to rest gently on Laura’s stomach. It was intimate and invasive and Laura didn’t even think about shying away. Instead, she matched Natasha’s slow steadying breaths.

“We’ll take care of this. I’ll take care of you,” she murmured, and Laura thought for a moment that Natasha was talking to the baby. Then Natasha glanced up and met her eye, and Laura realized this was about _her_.

“I’ll take care of you,” she repeated. “He won’t find out.”

“Well, I think he’ll find out eventually.” Laura laughed. “I think he’ll expect an explanation for a small screaming human, even if it’s _my_ turn to bring home a stray.”

Natasha was already shaking her head before Laura finished. “No, he won’t. It won’t get there. Don’t worry. I’ve done this before, for the other girls. It will hurt, but I’ll go quick. He’ll never know. We, women, we heal so quickly.”

“Oh god,” Laura whispered, because now it was her turn to pray.

“Would you rather be on the bed or table?”

“Natasha.”

“Because there’s going to be blood.”

“Natasha!”

“Might come out of the wood floor better that the carpet.”

“Eyes on me!” Laura yelled, and was mildly surprised when that finally got her eye contact.

“I want this baby,” Laura said, clearly enunciating, and speaking more loudly when Natasha started making noises of distress. “I’m nervous about Clint’s reaction, yes, but I’m not scared. There’s a difference.”

“Shit, you’re not thinking clearly. Baby sickness.”

“I’m thinking perfectly clearly.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“Oh yeah? What if it’s a _girl_?” Natasha spat out, raising her eyebrows with a finality that suggested she thought that had won her the argument.

Laura put her hands out, palms up, and said, “I don’t know what that means to you. Whatever life experience you’ve had that is driving all this fear, I’ve never experienced it. I’m missing a piece here.”

Natasha hesitated over that, but then seems to rally. “Then you’re going to have to trust me.”

She reached out and took Laura’s hand, clearly intending to physically pull her from the room. Laura used the contact to reach her other hand out, enfolding Natasha’ between her own.

“Natasha, you’re saying that you have had a life experience that taught you a lesson I don’t know. That I’m supposed to trust your judgement.”

“Yes!”

“But I think it’s the other way around. I think I know something you don’t. And it means I’m keeping the baby.”

“No, you can’t pos-”

“My body! My rules!”

“That’s not a thing,” Natasha said, with growing frustration, jerking her hand away from Laura’s.

“It’s a thing in this household,” Laura insisted stubbornly, setting her jaw and canting her hips. Somehow, she doubted this was what Clint had anticipated when he had warned her not to get manipulated into anything.

“I knew you were stupid!” Natasha spat. “I just didn’t think it went this deep.” Then she turned and fled again.

“Well,” Laura said, out loud to herself. “I guess that’s that.”

It wasn’t.

***

She woke up to the sound of a caught breath. She wasn’t sure why, looking back later. If Natasha had wanted to be silent, she would have been silent.

Laura was lying in between sheets with a large duvet on top. It made a crinkling noise when she moved, rolling over in the darkness. Her feet slid down toward the bottom of the bed, and she could feel the cool fabric against her skin – unwarmed by her body heat.

“Natasha?” she asked, fumbling for the bedside lamp.

“Don’t,” came the soft voice in answer. “Don’t turn it on. I don’t want…you don’t have to…why can’t you just…”

Laura paused a moment, resting the tips of her fingers on the edge of the nightstand, and then said, “I’m going to turn on the light now.”

When Natasha didn’t raise any more protests, she did just that.

The moment the light went on, Natasha retreated from the edge of the bed to the edge of the room. She was wearing exactly what she’d been wearing that evening, despite it now being nearly three in the morning.

“Natasha?”

She half-turned her body, then quarter turned it back, as though she was fighting the urge to flee again, even though she’d already been spotted. Shifting back and forth on her feet as though she didn’t know the ending to her own story.

That wasn’t the concerning part. The concerning part was the kitchen knife clutched by the handle in both hands, held close to the chest.

“Natasha…” That was all Laura seemed to be able to say lately. Natasha, Natasha, Natasha. Over and over again, hoping that the soft name would call the girl into some form of self-recognition.

“What?” Natasha snapped, clutching the knife tighter, as though daring Laura to point it out.

“You want to tell me the plan with the knife?” Never one to shy away. Ignoring problems tended to make them worse. As evidenced by the fact that she was awake at three in the morning and preparing to talk a brainwashed assassin down from – homicide? Suicide? Something darker or more indefinable?

“You don’t _understand_ ,” Natasha insisted, taking a step into the room. “You don’t understand, this is better.”

“Than what?”

Natasha gestured vaguely around the room with her knife hand, raising her eyebrows in a “are you stupid?” expression.

“Ok,” Laura said, sitting all the way up in bed, setting up the pillows so she could rearrange herself comfortably. “Let’s go through this. Why don’t you come sit down and we’ll hash this out. Leave the knife on the floor over there.”

“I’m not going to leave the knife.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion. Leave the knife and come sit on the bed.”

Natasha left the knife and came to sit on the bed.

Laura slid her cell phone off the nightstand while Natasha perched herself on the foot of the bed. She texted swiftly, smiling with half-concentration down toward the foot of the bed.

 

_Gift_

_Your waitlist item is now available. #3301 Please contact seller to complete your order._

 

She waited for the “sent” message, and then put her phone down on the side of the bed and looked at Natasha.

“You want to tell me what you saw that made you so afraid of pregnancy.”

“No.”

“Have you ever been pregnant?”

“I was never that stupid. I kept track of things on my own, thank you very much.”

Laura laughed, genuine and clear, and reached to grab the book off her nightstand. She settled back against the headboard and thumbed the book open to where she’d left off the night before.

“Well, how about you come up here and wait with me.” She patted Clint’s side of the bed with one hand, looking at Natasha appraisingly over the top of the book.

“Wait for what?” Natasha responded, showing no signs of moving from where she sat at the foot of the bed.

“We’re waiting for a phone call. I don’t know how long it’ll take. He’s usually pretty quick when I call a 3301, but if he’s busy with something, it could be a while.”

“Are you talking about Clint?” Natasha asked, horror rising in her eyes. “Why would--”

She was cut off by the low ringtone, and Laura answered quickly, setting the phone to speaker.

“Everything ok?” Clint huffed breathlessly on the other line. “How’s Natasha? She ok? You ok?”

“We’re all ok,” Laura laughed. “Take a deep breath. I just needed to tell you something that turned out to be unexpectedly time sensitive. Are you somewhere you can talk freely?”

“Yeah, I’m on a secure line. No one in the room. And you’re scaring me.”

“Don’t be scared, it’s good news.” Laura looked up and met Natasha’s eye, and the girl shook her head violently, wide-eyed.

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

Stretching on.

“Oh. My. God.” Clint said. “OH my GOD! OHMYGOD! When? God, _fuck_ , I’m jumping up and down right now, Laura. I wish you could see me, I’m literally jumping up and down. I’m so fucking ecstatic, I just, _fuck_. I’m coming over there. Do you need anything? Boy or girl! Is it a boy or girl? I can get, like, a crib and shit on the way over. No! I’ll _make_ a crib! Do you need anything? I can get food on the way, like ice cream and pickles or whatever the fuck you need. I’m leaving right now.”

“Clint Barton!” Laura laughed. “Your child is a few weeks old, at most. I do not need a crib. I cannot tell you its gender. And you most certainly are _not_ on your way over here right now.”

“But-”

“Clint, no. I am fine. Everything is fine. The only reason I called instead of waiting to see you again was because Natasha was nervous about the whole thing.”

Natasha was staring at the floor of the bedroom with a statuesque intensity, and Laura had to fight the urge to reach out and touch her shoulder.

“Nervous? Why was she nervous? What’s wrong?” Clint continued from the phone.

“Nothing in particular,” Laura placated. “I swear, nothing is wrong. I just thought it would make everyone a little calmer if I made this call, and it looks like I was right.”

“How is she?” His tone changed when he asked the question. The undercurrent of excitement was still present, but it edged over into a different kind of concern. A deep warmth.

“She’s doing great, considering the circumstances,” Laura answered.

“Good,” Clint said, relief obvious in his voice. “She’s had a life of hell, Laura. Really, it’s not fair. I know I had shit for guidance, but she’s something else, you know? I don’t think she’d had anyone in her life really helping her. She’s figured it all out on her own. I can’t imagine how strong someone would need to be to do that.”

Laura smirked down the bed at Natasha, who had now hunched over with tense muscles.

“Yeah?” she said. “I think you’re right. She seems incredible.”

Natasha made a tiny noise. Almost inaudible, and it was impossible to tell if it was distress or happiness.

A beat of silence.

“Uh, so….hey there, Natasha,” Clint said. “Didn’t realize you were there.”

Laura snorted through her nose.

“Also didn’t realize my wife had me on speaker phone, so low blow there.”

“This is why you love me.”

“This is one of many reasons I love you, and I’m really happy, and everyone at work is going to be asking me all day why I’m bouncing around like a child at Disney World, and I’m not going to be able to tell them, so I hope you’re happy.”

“Ecstatic.”

“Awesome. But I do have to go now. I’ve got a…thing.”

“Go do your thing,” Laura smiled. “And don’t die.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Laura ended the call and then glanced up quickly when she felt Natasha’s weight shift off the bed.

“Hang on,” she called, and Natasha hesitated in the middle of the room, face still turned away. “You ok?”

“Fine,” Natasha said, with deceptive calmness.

“Wash the kitchen knife before you put it back.”

She clicked the lamp off and listened in the dark for the soft clink of metal against wood and then the soft step of feet on their way to the kitchen. When she heard neither, she leaned back over and turned the light on again.

Natasha was gone, as was the knife.

She clicked the light back off.

So that had been a new one. As in the kitchen a few days ago, her hands began to tremble after the fact. Natasha’s eyes had seemed so empty, facing a grim reality rather than an unnecessary violence. Laura had known there would be issues with the young woman – anyone who Clint identified with was bound to have issues – but she’d jumped in rather blindly.

It was one thing to risk your own life, but she was pregnant. Was that too much?

She laid a gentle hand on her own stomach. Even though it was far too early, she imagined she could feel the bump growing beneath her fingers. She had chosen to guard the life growing there.

But she’d chosen to guard the life here, too. The life sitting in her house, probably curled up again in a window.

How long had it been since Natasha had slept? Really slept? Had these habits of restless prowling and sleepless nightmares started after she met Clint, or before? Had she been teetering on this brink of non-reality for days, or for months? Years?

Laura sighed and got out of bed, reaching to grab her robe. The night was chilly and the house held heat poorly. Not that she’d tell Clint. The man would probably rip all the walls open for re-insulation, and then get called away to an emergency work thing, leaving Laura in a wall-less house. No, thank you.

She walked into the hallway, turning the lights on both there and in her bedroom as she passed the switch. Then she made the systematic rounds of her house, turning on and leaving on each light when she came to it. Flooding the house. Revealing everything.

The kitchen knife was back in its place, slightly damp from the sink water.

Natasha, when Laura finally found her, was not in a window. She was curled up under the guest room bed. Laura might never have found her there if it weren’t for the trail of clothes peppering the room. Dark jeans, a “shit happens” t-shirt, undergarments, all borrowed from Laura’s closet.

“Natasha?” Laura breathed, when she got down on her hands and knees and found her there underneath the bed. Lying naked on the hardwood floor. “Why? Honey, it’s really cold.”

“I don’t want your clothes,” Natasha spat out, sliding back further underneath the bed. “I don’t want your stuff.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not you! I’m not going to be you. I’m never going to be you.”

“I don’t—”

“I can’t have the things you have!” Natasha screamed.

Laura bit the inside of her cheek and willed her eyes to not do the “pity thing” that so often pissed Clint off. She figured it would be just as unwelcome in this situation.

“Clint?” she asked softly. “Is this about Clint?”

“I’m not allowed,” Natasha mumbled, to herself more than to Laura.

“Natasha, answer me. Is this about Clint?”

There was a long silence, and Laura resettled herself to lay on the floor more comfortably.

Eventually Natasha said, “He wasn’t mad.”

“No, he wasn’t mad,” Laura agreed. “He seemed pretty happy to me.”

“What did you do?”

“You’ve lost me again, sweetheart,” Laura said. “What do you mean, what did I do?”

“To be good enough,” Natasha clarified. “What did you do to be good enough that he was happy? He wasn’t just ‘not mad’ he was excited. He was excited that you were happy and that you were safe, and I want to know what you did.” She scooted herself out of the bed a little bit, into the light where she could get a good look at Laura. “Please? Please tell me, so I can learn to do it, too. What did you do to make him…” She trailed off, searching for the word, but eventually just waved her hands in generic frustration.

“To make him love me,” Laura finished, with a breathlessness.

“Yes,” Natasha whispered.

“Please come out from under the bed?” Laura asked, and god she was crying. Soft catches in her breath that filled her all the way up to her eyes where tears spilled over. The world faded into a watery wavering mirror.

Natasha crawled out slowly, and Laura pulled off her robe, wrapping it around the girl. Natasha pushed her arms through the sleeves, and folded the edges around herself, pressing her arms close to her chest. Cocooning herself in the soft pastel fleece.

Laura wanted to wrap her arms around the girl, pick her up and carry her to bed, tuck her in. Maybe plug in a fucking night light. Who knew?

Instead, she placed two fingers under Natasha’s chin, and lifted her face up for eye contact.

“You,” she whispered, “are already worthy of love.”

Natasha seemed to choke on air, fighting to say something that she couldn’t seem to get past her lips while under such intense scrutiny. Most of it came out unintelligible, but Laura distinctly caught the word ‘monster’ in the sentence.

“That’s not allowed!” she snapped, loudly enough that she felt Natasha startle underneath her touch.

“That is not allowed in my house,” she continued, more softly. “Words do so much more damage than knives, and I know you know that. And deadly weapons are not allowed in this house. Not when they’re being used against its occupants. Even their own wielder.”

“I don’t live here,” Natasha said, trying to move her gaze back down to the floor. Laura tapped underneath her chin, to remind her to bring her eyes back up.

“Clint brought you through our door. I opened it for you. I don’t know how much clearer we can make it for you.”

Natasha shivered, and then jerked herself away from Laura’s fingers, away from the eye contact.

Laura understood why. She felt raw herself, and she’d been the speaker. She waited, silently, for Natasha to decide how much control she wanted to have over the situation.

Eventually Natasha said, “I think I’m going to sleep now.”

“All right,” Laura answered. “Where do you plan on doing that? Because if you say ‘the window’ I might lose my shit.”

Natasha looked back at Laura, and her eyes tracked one of the falling tears. Distracted, she reached out and wiped it off Laura’s face, jerking her hand back as soon as she made skin on skin contact. She scrambled back and to her feet, looking down at Laura.

“I think…I’ll just sleep here, yes?” She gestured to the guest bed.

“On top of it, right?” Laura asked, ignoring the lingering sensation of the girl’s fingers on her cheek.

“Yeah,” Natasha promised.

Silence between them.

“Well, I guess I’ll go then.” She got to her feet, wrapping her arms around herself in the cold room. “Have a good night.”

She turned and walked back to her bed, turning off all the lights she’d turned on during her search. Then she climbed into her bed and curled up in a little ball, trying to conserve body heat. She should probably get another blanket out of the hall closet, but she really didn’t want to get out of bed again.

Instead, she shivered her way through the night, sleeping fitfully and listening to the darkened house.

She hoped that the moment, caught within the witching hour, would be a final turning point. That it would solve everything, and there would be no more late night threats or breakdowns.

She also knew such a fantasy was ridiculous.

Sure enough, in the morning, Natasha was gone.

***

Laura didn’t do more than a precursory search of the house. She’d felt the emptiness the moment she’d woken up. She did a dash through the rooms, softly calling “Natasha” in each one. Once she’d made her way through, she darted back downstairs to the front door and shoved her sockless feet into some tennis shoes. Then she pushed through the door, hard enough for it to slam into the wall, and took off down the driveway.

The morning was as cold as the night had been, with added dew and a chilling wind. But as Laura sprinted along the path, she warmed up slowly. She didn’t head for the truck, parked in the barn. Didn’t do more than glance at it, to make sure Natasha hadn’t taken it.

She knew where she was heading.

Eaton Street had a tiny little covered bus stop less than two miles from the house. It was overgrown and out of place, but a single bus still stopped there as it shuttled between towns. Laura didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone get on or off there, but she suspected the driver might be in for a surprise passenger today.

Almost two miles, and Laura had fifteen minutes to get there.

Gods, she hoped sprinting wasn’t bad for the baby.

She was familiar with the route, at least, having run it plenty of times before. However, she hadn’t really left the farm since Natasha had arrived, and her body was punishing her for it. A slow ache settled into her body, worsening to a burn until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Two miles didn’t seem like very far when you were out for a light jog with your headphones in but _damn_ she felt like she was dying like this. Sprinting and sweating and she certainly didn’t feel cold anymore.

Just before she came around the final bend, she had an out of body moment. She understood, somehow, that this was how Clint’s body must feel sometimes. The unforgiving burn of reality pushing him. The fact that he was limited by the laws of reality and hating that fact as the seconds ran down.

What do you do, if you _have_ to do something you’re not capable of doing?

She cried out in relief, when she came far enough around the curve to see Natasha sitting on the ground at the bus stop. She allowed herself to slow, jogging and then walking the last few steps.

“Hey,” she greeted breathlessly, glancing at her watch. “New personal record.”

Natasha stared out into space, tensing at the sound of Laura’s harsh attempts to catch her breath. Eventually, Laura just gave up and sprawled out on the ground, letting the rocks dig into her back and the dirt get into her hair.

“I’m not coming back with you,” Natasha said quietly.

“Hang on,” Laura panted. “I’m really pissed at you, and I’m going to stand up and tell you so in a minute. When I can breathe again. So, hang on, ok?”

Natasha didn’t say anything else after that, so Laura waited until she heard the bus somewhere down the road, and then she pushed herself to her feet. Natasha stood up to join her.

“All right, young lady,” Laura said, because it seemed like as good a moment as any to practice her ‘mom’ voice. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing out here, but I can tell you with 100% confidence that running away is not the answer.”

“I’m not running away from anything,” Natasha snapped.

“You slipped out in the middle of the night to take a bus to God knows where. Do you even know where that bus goes?”

“Not back to your house.”

“Oh look at you, all sassy and in charge. I don’t think that you understand that I’m pissed, Natasha. Angry. Upset. Mad. Irritated. Incensed. Just because you’ve only been a part of this family for a few weeks, you still don’t have the right to up and leave. We leave notes in this house.”

“You leave notes?” Natasha mocked, eyes focused behind Laura on the bus that was now visible around the bend. “As in you have experience with this kind of thing?”

“Yes,” Laura answered, refusing to look over her shoulder at the approaching vehicle. “You think Clint never has to slip away suddenly? Sometimes you can’t say goodbye in person, so you find whatever way to say it that you can.”

“You’re mad because I didn’t leave a note?”

“You are way too smart to get away with playing dumb!” Laura snapped. She finally gave in and glanced over her shoulder at the bus. Her time was very limited and she very much doubted she’d be able to physically stop Natasha from getting on the bus. She also doubted that Natasha would let Laura follow her on.

“Look, Clint said that you and he met on the 7th, right? And he didn’t say the country, but he said Eastern Europe.”

“Ukraine.”

“Oh, god. Then it’s perfect. Because he also said sunset, which was at 5:30.”

“And how do you know that?” Natasha’s eyes had finally left the bus and were focused on Laura with a suspicious concern.

“Because I looked it up,” Laura answered. “I’m walking you through what I thought about the first night you slept here. Because 5:30 in the evening in the Ukraine is 9:30 in the morning here. The funny thing is, I know exactly what I was doing at 9:30 in the morning on the 7th.”

“Which was?”

“I was staring at a pregnancy test in my bathroom. I was staring at two lines running down across an opening in a cheap piece of plastic, coming to terms with new life in my home, at the exact moment that Clint reached out for you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Natasha whispered, but the color had drained from her face. “That’s just…that’s _coincidence_. You can’t think…”

Laura let her trail off, just as the bus came to a stop beside them. The door swung open and a middle aged man called down to them, “Uh, are you ladies getting on here?”

Laura let the question hang for a moment. Then, when Natasha didn’t move, she said, “No thank you. You have a nice day, though.”

The man shrugged and closed the doors again, driving away before more decisions could be changed.

“Let’s get you home,” Laura sighed, turning to head back down the road.

“New personal record,” Natasha said.

“What?”

“You said that you’d made a new personal record for your run. What was it?”

“Thirteen minutes and a twenty-something seconds,” Laura said carefully, unsure where the conversation was going.

“For two miles? That’s nothing,” Natasha laughed, but it wasn’t harsh. It was almost a giggle. “I did it in eleven, once.”

“Eleven flat?” Laura gaped, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Ok, not eleven flat. Eleven minutes and thirty-seven seconds. But I was the first girl in my class to break twelve.”

“That’s still incredible, Natasha,” Laura said, as she started walking again. “I bet I could never break thirteen. In fact, I bet today was as good as I ever do.”

“You never know,” Natasha answered, doing a little jump-skip to pull even with Laura. “If you trained for it specifically, you probably could.”

“Yeah, well, considering the changes my body is about to make, I really doubt it.”

Natasha fell silent then, glancing at Laura like she’d forgotten about the pregnancy. Maybe she had.

“You ok?” Laura asked quietly.

“Just thinking. If it’s a girl, someone’s going to have to look out for her. Make sure she doesn’t end up like me, you know?”

“End up like you how?”

If she meant ‘end up a monster’ then Laura was going to cry again.

“End up hurt,” Natasha said. “End up alone.”

Laura finally gave into her impulse to reach out and wrap her arm around Natasha’s shoulder, pulling her into her own body.

“No one in this family is ever alone,” she said.

Natasha let the silence drag on for a good hundred yards before she said, “You know, I’ve killed people for trying to hold me like this before.”

“Yeah?” Laura smiled. “Well, how’s the assassination impulse doing right at this moment?”

“Fine, I guess.” Pause. “Yeah, it’s under control.”

Laura stopped walking and said, “Um, was that in question? Because I can...” She started to pull her arm away, but Natasha reached out and seized her t-shirt, pulling her back.

“No, I said it was fine. I’ll be good. I can be good.”

“Natasha,” Laura whispered, pulling her back in. “You’re already good.”

***

“How’s mommy?” Clint asked. First thing out of his mouth when he got a chance to use a line he trusted.

Laura made a faint noise of surprise, and Natasha honed in with her Laura-is-mildly-distressed radar that had recently developed. It had been three months since the incident at the bus stop, and in all that time Natasha’s detailed concern for Laura’s well-being hadn’t wavered in the slightest.

 _I’m fine_ , Laura mouthed to Natasha, then said out loud, “Not sure how I feel about the new nickname, but other than that, perfectly healthy. How are you?”

“Oh come on. Say it for _me_.”

“Clint. I am not calling you daddy.”

Natasha laughed once, and then covered her mouth, as though surprised at her own sound.

“No, it’s not--” Clint spluttered. “I’m not. _You_ have a dirty mind! Is that Natasha who laughed? IT’S NOT FUNNY, NATASHA!”

Laura held the phone away from her face so Natasha could more clearly hear the message meant for her. Natasha smirked in response.

“How is she, by the way?” Clint asked, once Laura had put the phone back to her ear.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Laura countered, and held the phone out to Natasha, who took it dutifully.

“Hello? Um, Barton residence.”

Laura held her breath to keep from laughing, though she could hear Clint doing exactly that on the other end of the line.

“Yes, I’m doing very well. I’m looking after Laura,” Natasha responded, presumably Clint’s inquiry. They she paused, then continued, “Yes she needs a lot of looking after.”

Laura made an exaggerated, “who me?” gestured, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Yes, she’s eating her vegetables. Why are you asking about vegetables? Folic acid is much more important, although we have significantly passed the deadline for when that’s helpful.”

“Stop teasing her, Clint,” Laura called, loudly enough to be heard, biting back yet another laugh at Natasha’s face when she realized she was being played.

“Well, I’m sorry you’re not here to see it all,” Natasha said, narrowing her eyes. “Laura’s just now starting to show, although just barely. You’d think that with two whole babies in there, she’d show a little faster.”

Laura made a little “wha?” sound. She was most definitely not having twins.

“Oh, I think someone’s at the door,” Natasha finished sweetly. “We have to go now, bye.”

Natasha hung up the phone with finality.

“Make fun of me,” she muttered to herself. “I will put you through hell.” She handed the phone back to Laura with a sweet smile and the commentary, “Your husband is an ass.”

Laura laughed and laughed, going even harder when she saw Natasha’s self-satisfied grin as she stalked out of the room.

She leaned back against the counter and waited for Clint to call back, smiling when it only took a couple of seconds.

“Hello?”

“Twins! Laura, what the fuck with the twins! Twins?”

“No twins, Clint,” Laura placated, laughing again. “Just the one baby. Just one. Natasha was having a joke at your expense.”

“No twins?” Clint confirmed.

“No twins,” Laura echoed.

“Good! Because twins would be a nightmare to handle. You’ve got one kid running around everywhere and you can’t catch them, and then you’ve got the other kid just sitting quietly and you _think_ they’re behaving but it’s a mind trick and they’ve really taken apart the toaster or something.”

“Been thinking about twins a lot?”

“I’ve been thinking about babies a lot!”

“You and me both.”

A pause.

“Laura, how is Natasha really? And kick her out if she’s in the room.”

“She’s not in the room. And she’s doing really well. She’s more of a mother hen than you would be, honestly. I’m not sure how I got so lucky.”

“You’re being patient with her though, right? Don’t get frustrated if she’s underfoot.”

“She’s not underfoot, love. She’s never underfoot. She’s like a ninja, or whatever. Slipping around in the back corners of the room, but always there right when I need her. Some kind of sixth sense, I don’t know.”

“Well, she was probably the most feared assassin we were dealing with. Her training wasn’t shitty, not by a long shot. Although I doubt they ever intended it to be used like this.”

“Good!” Laura said viciously. “I hope they turn over in their graves with what she does with her life. I hope they _writhe_.”

“Wow, vicious much?” Clint said, but there was a fondness to his tone.

“Protective instinct. I probably get it from you. And Clint? I wanted to ask you about something actually.”

“Go for it, but I’ve only got a few more minutes.”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you about actually. You haven’t been home in a long time, but it doesn’t sound like you’re out on mission. And I can’t help but wonder, when you talk about Natasha being a feared assassin, are you in trouble? For not bringing her in?”

There were several seconds of silence then, the clock ticking away their precious moments together, and then Clint took a deep breath before he answered.

“Yeah. I guess you could say that I’m in trouble. They’re turning up the heat on me here.”

“And when were you going to tell me?”

“Never? Look, Laura, I don’t want you to worry about it, because there’s not really anything to be done. They want to know where Natasha is, and I’m not going to tell them. So they’re just going to have to decide what they’re going to do about that.”

“Are you ok?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. They’re not, you know, _hurting_ me, or anything like that. I’ve just been yelled at by some nasty people. And then I was yelled at by some not-nasty people who I really respect and that was way worse. But I’m sticking to my guns here, ok? You do what you need to do over there, and I’ll do what I need to do over here.”

“What if they don’t let you out in time for the birth?” Laura whispered.

A long silence.

“I…I have to go, Laura. I’ll call again when I can.”

Laura continued to hold the phone to her ear long after Clint had hung up. He’d called her on the landline – something about security – and the dial tone was harsh and grating. Loud obnoxious piece of shit.

She wanted her husband.

Inspiration struck her, and she slammed the phone down into its cradle and took off up the stairs. She ran into the reading room, where Natasha was sitting in the window seat, and laid her fingers on the other line’s receiver.

It was warm.

“Hear anything you liked?” she asked Natasha calmly. It wasn’t like she expected the spy to abandon her nature completely.

Natasha closed the book with a snap and leaned toward Laura.

“They’re probably hurting him,” she announced, and Laura felt her stomach drop. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of it. But if they sent him to kill me and he didn’t, of course he would be in trouble.”

Laura took a deep breath and realigned herself with reality. Realigned herself with her trust in Clint.

“He said he was fine, and I believe him. I don’t doubt that they’re unhappy with him, but I trust his word. He hides things from me, and I know that. But he doesn’t lie to me. That’s a rule. It was my condition for our relationship.”

Natasha mulled that over before she pulled her feet back up onto the window seat and said, “Maybe. I don’t know. There are weird rumors about SHIELD. I guess it’s possible that they are treating him well. But, just so you know, if he can’t get out in time for the birth then I will go and physically break him out. And if that doesn’t work, I will trade myself for him.”

Laura made a noise of surprise, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

“It’s not like I couldn’t break myself out later,” she said, burying her nose back into the book.

***

It wasn’t all good. Three weeks later, Laura got a fever. Normal stomach virus, but Natasha lost her shit. She spend hours babbling about German measles and fetal complications and risks associated with high temperatures, and every time Laura reminded her “not helping!” she only kept her silence for a few minutes at a time, before reminding Laura of more things that could go wrong.

“Natasha!” Laura finally snapped. “If you have to duct tape your mouth shut then do it.”

It was unfair, calling back to their first meeting like that, and Laura knew it. But she was sick and wound up on hormones and fear and Clint hadn’t called back in almost a week – _why hadn’t he called back?_ – and the words were out of her mouth before she considered them.

Natasha fled the room before Laura could apologize, or even calm down enough to want to apologize. By the time Laura realized how cruel the words had been, Natasha’s footsteps weren’t even audible.

She shoved herself to her feet - 19 weeks still left her mobile at least - and started making the house rounds.

Natasha was nowhere to be found.

Laura made the rounds again.

She was just starting to panic, wondering if she was going to have to sprint for the bus stop again – no, she’d take the truck – when the screen door opened and Natasha stepped into the living room. Her hair was disheveled and she was breathing hard.

“I made the edge of the property,” Natasha said. “But I realized I forgot to leave a note.”

Laura opened her mouth to answer, but relief and sickness won out in the competition, and she vomited all over the floor instead

“Sorry,” she managed, when she wasn’t choking anymore. Natasha was holding back her hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. I’m just...I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Natasha soothed her, taking her to the couch and setting up a vomit bucket.

Once Laura was settled, Natasha got down on her hands and knees to clean up the vomit.

It took days to get her talking and laughing again. Laura called herself every bad name she could think of, and then started over again when she ran out.

Still, the steady consistency worn down through time, and Natasha learned to laugh again.

***

It wasn’t always bad.

Laura announced it was her birthday one morning, dancing around the house with excitement. She was going to ignore the fact that Clint wasn’t there, and she was going to enjoy the day with Natasha. She was 20 weeks and craving cake.

“You ever make a birthday cake?” she grinned at Natasha, and Natasha answered with a slow grin of her own.

“No,” she said. “But I’m betting that’s about to change.”

It did. By the end of it, there was frosting in each other’s hair, on the floor, the couch, and the rug. The couch, specifically, would have a slight green stain on one of its cushion for the duration of its lifespan.

***

They learned it was a boy.

Clint still hadn’t called.

***

At 25 weeks, Laura stopped in the middle of a conversation with Natasha to purse her lips and roll her eyes.

“Hang on,” she said. “I have to pee again. Will you feed the horses?”

“Sure,” Natasha said. “Didn’t you just pee 10 minutes ago?”

“Who can fathom the wonders of the pregnant body?” Laura responded bitterly, and waddled her way into the bathroom.

Clint hadn’t called since before her birthday.

She yanked down her underwear and plopped down onto the toilet.

“Come on,” she groused at herself.  “You really had to go five seconds ago, so _go_.” Which did nothing to convince her body to comply.

She gave up a few moments later, and yanked toilet paper off the wall to wipe.

“Waste of perfectly good toilet paper,” she muttered.

The paper came away with blood.

Laura stared at it for moment. Blinked slowly, and then leaned over to look at her underwear. Red spotting streaked the fabric.

“Natasha!” she screamed. “Natasha!”

It was nearly thirty minutes before Natasha got concerned enough that Laura hadn’t come to join her and that she wandered back toward the house enough to hear Laura screaming.

***

The doctor said the bleeding had stopped and that there wasn’t really a way to tell what had caused it. No, the ultrasound didn’t show anything particularly concerning. No, bleeding at 25 weeks wasn’t normal. Yes, he was a little worried. No, there was nothing he could do.

Natasha drove them back to the farm, assuring the doctor she’d make sure Laura followed bed rest.

When she parked in the driveway, she leaned over and hit her head against the glass of the driver’s side window. She hit it again harder. And then harder. Laura had to physically reach over and pull her away from the window to get her to stop.

***

Clint called at 26 weeks. It was a short and one-sided conversation.

“Someone might be coming for you,” he panted. “To the farm. For Natasha. It’s not SHIELD, but that’s all I know. Maybe one of her old handlers. I don’t know. I don’t know how they found you. It’s not SHIELD, so tell Natasha to shoot to kill.”

When Laura had delivered the message, Natasha had nodded sagely and taken Laura upstairs. She’d moved some food up with her, and dug one of the handguns out of the basement, placing it in Laura’s hand.

“You shouldn’t need to use this,” she said calmly. “It’s just in case.”

Then she curled up in the window and stared down at the ground. She didn’t answer any of Laura’s questions; didn’t move except to change to the other window to see the other side of the house. Laura ate and drank mechanically, for the sake of the baby.

The standoff broke three days later with the sound of crunching gravel underfoot. Natasha moved from the window, laid a kiss on Laura’s forehead, and said, “I’ll be right back.”

When Natasha had disappeared downstairs, Laura struggled to her feet and made it to the window. In the approaching dusk, she counted at least four bodies moving toward the house. She waddled to the other side and counted another three. Maybe more.

Then she positioned herself to be best hidden by the door as it opened, and took the safety off her weapon, holding it loosely and ready to be raised into a firing stance in a moment’s notice.

She waited for the sounds of gunshots. Or screams.

Dead silence.

“Laura?”

Laura’s breath caught at the sound of Natasha’s voice.

“Yes? I’m here.”

“Ok, I’m going to open the door now.”

She did so.

“Are you hurt?” Laura asked. It was the only thing she could think of to say.

“Me?” Natasha laughed. “No. I just wanted to tell you that it’s over. But stay up here for a while ok? I’m going to move the bodies and get rid of them off of the farm. I don’t want them here. I doubt you do either.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Laura couldn’t help herself from saying. “Not a sound.”

Natasha’s face softened. “You think I would have let you hear? You think I’d let you have a noise to turn into a nightmare? Absolutely not.”

She faded away back down the stairs then, and Laura was left alone to wonder about the tortured woman currently dragging bodies around the farm. Laura had known she was dangerous, but she’d somehow also forgotten.

Months later, she’d look around the house for signs of death or danger. She’d never find anything. No blood, no damage to the house, no freshly turned dirt.

***

Clint called again at 29 weeks. Both Laura and Natasha tensed at the sound of the land line – last time it had not held good news – but Laura answered anyway.

“Hey, there!” Clint crowed. “Guess who beat the ‘traitor’ rap? Guess who might be coming home in a few weeks?”

“You!” Laura answered. She had had half a mind to make a joke, guessing some celebrity, but the moment had been too full of raw relief, and she’d breathed out the answer in a prayer of thanksgiving.

“Me!” Clint laughed. “They’re still not thrilled about the way I went about things, but they used the stuff Nat told me about her program to find the organization that had her. Once they saw the hell those girls had gone through, they were a little more apt to believe that she really did want to leave them.”

“Nat?” Laura asked, causing Natasha to cock her head to the side. “Did you just call her Nat?”

“Well, yeah,” Clint defended himself. “I think it’s cute.”

“Cause she’s just the epitome of ‘cute’,” Laura said dryly.

“I like it,” Natasha said suddenly. “Names are for all kinds of things. This one can be yours.”

“She likes it,” Laura said into the phone. “She says it can be just for us. For you and me to use.”

“Good.”

“Yeah,” Laura said, smiling at Natasha. “She’s pretty good.”

“And how’s baby?” Clint asked, and Laura’s face fell as her hand went to wear she could feel her son kicking.

“He’s all right.”

“He?” Pause. “What do you mean ‘all right’? As in, not ‘great’?”

“Yes, he. And he’s fine, right now. Really. But we had a scare a little ways back, and it still has us both on edge. Just, I started bleeding for a while. So there’s a higher risk of something going wrong. Nothing has yet, there’s just the risk.”

“I’m so sorry, Laura. So sorry. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“When?”

“Three weeks. The whole thing is getting reviewed over the next three weeks. I have an in, so I pretty much know what the decision’s going to be. I’m not worried. But I can’t leave for another three weeks. Maybe two and a half.”

“Three weeks,” Laura sighs. “I can wait another three weeks. Cooper isn’t due for another eleven.”

“Cooper?”

“Shit. Uh, yeah. I didn’t want to name him without you, but I kept thinking about my dad, and I just missed him a lot, and I was missing you, and I got really nostalgic, and then it stuck.”

“Cooper is fine,” Clint said. “It’s more than fine. I love you. See you soon.”

“I love you, too. See you in three weeks.”

***

The baby came in two weeks. Nine weeks early.

***

The first contraction was sudden and strange. Laura was trying to reach the box of macaroni and cheese on the shelf, because she _really needed mac and cheese ok_ when suddenly her body decided to try and kill her for a good twenty seconds.

Or that’s what it felt like anyway.

She dropped the box, and it hit the edge of the counter, bouncing off onto the floor with the classic loud clatter of dry pasta. Natasha rushed to her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Laura panted. “At least, not anymore. That was just really weird. And new. I don’t like new.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Did it feel like pressure?”

“No. I mean, yes it did, but I know what you’re thinking, and no. That was not a contraction. It can’t be. I’m only 31 weeks.”

“You’re almost 32.”

“That is still _not_ 40.”

“4:27,” Natasha noted calmly, getting the time off the kitchen clock.

“It wasn’t a contraction,” Laura insisted.

The second contraction came seventeen minutes later. That one lasted over thirty seconds.

“Text Clint,” Laura panted. “Code 8888.”

“We don’t know for sure that the baby is coming now,” Natasha said, but she was eyeing the stairs up to where the phone was kept.

“Natasha,” Laura said. “My water just broke. Text Clint.”

***

This was the problem. The truck wouldn’t start. When Natasha turned the key and got the dead battery sound, she actually pulled a 9 mil out of a holster on her ankle.

“I didn’t know you walked around armed,” Laura said, then clenched her teeth into a silent scream as another contraction hit her.

“You almost got attacked in your own house, and you’re concerned I carry a weapon on me?” Natasha asked, turning the key again.

“Not concerned,” Laura panted. “I just didn’t know. Should we call an ambulance?”

“Would you be able to tell if anyone in there was actually an EMT or was an impersonator?”

“No. But what’s our other option?”

“Wait here.”

“That’s not an option!” Laura called out. But it was too late, and Natasha had disappeared into the night.

Laura had a lot of time to herself. She had two contractions and thought she heard people approaching the truck four times. The fourth time, she was right. A car with overly-bright headlights was pulling into the driveway.

Laura debated climbing out of the car and trying to hide in the barn – she lamented that Natasha hadn’t left her a weapon of some kind – but then she recognized the car. It was her neighbor’s.

She got it suddenly, rolling her eyes and climbing out of her truck and then into the car.

“Did you at least tell him you were taking it?” she asked Natasha. Then saw the wires hanging below the dash. “I’m guessing not.”

“Didn’t have time,” Natasha murmured, and floored it.

***

The registration staff was probably going to have nightmares about this. Natasha didn’t seem to understand that L&D people did not exist to jump to Laura’s aid. There was a system, which Natasha seemed determined to circumvent.

“Natasha,” Laura panted. “I don’t think you’re helping.”

“I’m about to be helping someone meet their maker,” Natasha muttered.

“Not. Helping.”

***

The birth itself was almost uneventful because even though it was painful and bloody and everyone was screaming except maybe that was actually Laura screaming because the pain came and went and they let Natasha go back there with her because Clint still hadn’t called back even though that had been an 8888 so why hadn’t he called when that was the always call me back right now code and maybe something terrible had happened or maybe something terrible was about to happened because god this hurt and she screamed through her teeth while Natasha squeezed her hand so hard but not hard enough because her whole body was splitting open because humans were not meant to fold like this and dear god that first part had been a lie because this was definitely eventful this was the most eventful thing that had ever happened and the world just needed to slow the fuck down.

***

They took him away from her the moment he was free from her.

***

They took him away and wouldn’t give him back.

***

Even Natasha said she couldn’t have him.

***

She was so damn tired.

***

“How is he?” Laura asked, groggy and staring at the fluorescent lights.

“He’s breathing on his own,” Clint said, and Laura just about shot straight out of bed at the sound of his voice. She climbed off the bed and into his arms, and he was only slightly surprised to suddenly have a lapful of her. He made happy noises as she laid a peppering of kisses around his face.

Then she drew back suddenly, gasping something about hospital cameras and secrecy.

“I took care of them,” Clint said. “Don’t worry about it. Let us have this. Let us have this moment.”

Laura complied enthusiastically, claiming him in a deep kiss.

“Miss me, then?” he mumbled, with a mouth full of her. “Even with Nat to keep you company?”

“Natasha! Where is she?”

“Oh, ouch,” Clint laughed. “And she’s hanging around in the hallway just outside because she thinks she’s giving us a moment or whatever. But I’m guessing you’re going to be against that?”

“Get her in here. She’s supposed to be in here.”

“I’ll get her if you get off of my lap.”

Laura made a sound of discontent, but obligingly scooted back toward her bed.

“Do you know what she asked me?” Clint said, as he helped shift Laura. “She asked me how to become a SHIELD agent. Actually, that’s wrong. She told me she was going to be a SHIELD agent.”

“And you said?”

“I said that if she’d told me that months ago, I could have brought her in with me and maybe not gone through six-ish months of hell.”

“You did not!”

“I did not,” Clint laughed. “It’s probably not true anyway. I still think they would have killed her.”

“Oh!” Laura exclaimed. “Are you in trouble for coming here? Oh god, I called an 8888. Did you leave without permission?”

Clint grinned, hand on the doorknob. “Nah, I’m not in trouble. I know this really great guy at work. And he’s really good with paperwork. No one needs to know, especially since it was only a couple of days early. They didn’t really need me anymore”

Then he opened the door and gestured with his head, and Natasha crept into the room.

“Cooper?” Laura asked,

“He’s got a feeding tube,” Natasha answered promptly. “But he’s breathing on his own and he has no other complications besides the premature birth. He’s tiny, but not as small as he could have been. Not small enough to foreshadow any future complications. He’s probably going to be fine.”

“I could have told you that,” Clint pouted.

“Baby, I love you, but I adore the fact that I got the report from Natasha. You? I think that if there was an actual problem with our baby that you would break our agreement and lie to me for the first time. Natasha? Natasha wouldn’t pull a punch, ever.”

“I would not lie to you,” Clint pouted, but Laura just hummed in disagreement and beckoned Natasha over to sit on the bed up by her head. Unlike the last time she’d made such an offer, Natasha accepted.

“I hear you want to be a SHIELD agent,” Laura said, leaning back on the pillows.

Natasha tensed, refusing to meet Laura’s eyes as she said, “Yes.”

Laura reached out and took Natasha’s hand in her own, tugging on it until Natasha gave in and met her eyes.

“You know what I think about that? About you being an agent?”

“What?”

“I think you’ll be very good.”

Clint snorted. “Oh course she’ll be good. Have you seen her record? I mean, obviously, you haven’t, but if you could? Wow. She’s the best.”

He didn’t seem to notice the look that passed between Natasha and Laura.

“I am good,” Natasha said, and the declaration held a promise. He held her allegiance to SHIELD, an organization she’d hadn’t even met yet. It held her loyalty to Clint, a man she’d only began to know.

It held her trust in Laura, the woman who’d taught her what it meant to be good.


End file.
